It is hard to envisage a shape-shifting teapot.
Unsettling, in fact. For what could be more solid and unchanging, than a clay pot with a rotund middle and legs which sit foursquare on the damask tablecloth? However would one keep the tea cosy in place? Even Lewis Carroll resisted any attempt to personify this cornerstone of British culture. He settled for shoving a dormouse inside.
Here in Britain the teapot has been an essential part of the household for more than 300 years. The earliest teapot anyone seems to be able to trace is one dated 1513, which sits companionably in a museum in Hong Kong’s Flagstaff House Museum of Teaware, but they went back much further than that in China.
And we know it: because the teapot is an integral part of their folklore.
As is, incidentally,the raccoon dog. Tanuki. It’s what you get when you cross a racoon and a dog. Forest-dwelling omnivores, they pass through life feeding on small voles and vegetation, mating and producing prodigiously large litters of up to 12.
But they and the teapot haunt Chinese fairytales. Bake-Tanuki becomes a supernatural creation. In the seventh century, Empress Suiko wrote: “in two months of spring, there are mujina [tanuki] in the country of Mutsu , they turn into humans and sing songs.”
Amongst its powers, it boasts shapeshifting.
And from this came the story entitled: “bunbuku chagama”; or, “Happiness bubbling over like a teapot.”
So there’s this poor man who did not have two pennies to rub together. But he got by. He was walking through the dense dark forest one day, when he came upon a racoon-dog, cruelly caught in a vicious trap. He felt desperately sorry for it, and turned aside from his life for an hour or so to free the little creature.
Once freed the tanuki shot off into the forest, and the man smiled: he derived considerable pleasure from its elation, though it improved his own life not one jot.
Later that night, there was a knock on the door.
It was the tanuki, of course.
He had arrived to thank the man for his kindness. And he wanted to make a difference to his poverty-stricken life. If front of the incredulous eyes of the peasant the small gruff animal transformed itself into a teapot.
“Sell me,” the tanuki advised sagely, “and you will make a tidy sum to live on.”
The peasant cast around for a suitable home for such a very mystical teapot, and settled at last on a monk. But not all monks are saintly, and this one polished the teapot roughly, and then set it on the fire to boil water.
Forseeing implications is not one of the tanuki’s strong points. It had not projected forward to the sitting-on-naked-flame bit. And it wasn’t about to hang around for its bottom to be roasted. It sprouted legs there and then, and in its half-transformed state it shot off, away from the monk, into the wilds of the forest.
The monk was cross. That teapot cost a lot of money: and he couldn’t very well return to the peasant demanding a refund because it had sprouted legs and run away. He would be clapped in an asylum.
Meanwhile, back at the peasant’s house, a man and a teapot sat round a small fire, deep in conversation. The peasant’s brow was furrowed with contemplation.
“I can only do teapots,” the tanuki confided glumly.”Fat lot of good that is to you…”
And then he brightened. “I know!” he exclaimed. “We could do a circus act! People would pay to see a walking teapot.”
The peasant looked doubtful. And so with admirable diversification, the tanuki hazarded an alternative. “Tightrope!” he squeaked joyfully, jumping crazily up and down. “I could walk a tightrope!”
It was a thought. And before the week was out, the mystery of the tighrope-walking teapot was bringing in hoardes of spectators, and greater riches than the peasant would ever have thought possible.
And yet the greatest wealth of all was the friendship between the peasant and the little shape-shifting racoon dog, who had found a happy, secure home.
Kate Shrewsday 
Wonderful story. I remember some friends of my parents who had a dog called Teapot. Maybe they were old China hands:)
…or maybe the dog was keeping a secret or two about his racoonish ancestry, Roger….
Aw! What a lovely story 🙂
It is heart warming….one man and his racoon-dog.
Very entertaining, love the shape shifter aspect, fairy tales would be the poorer without them.
They would: prevalent in so many traditions of folklore, Lou…
great story- such a warm (oops!) relationship
Ha! It did start off that way: I wish every peasant could find his tanuki.
Clapping. I’m clapping with delight here, Kate, and keeping an eye on one of my teapots that has mysteriously moved around in the cabinet.
Hmmm. Sounds like you might have a little more than you bargained for in that cabinet, Penny 😀
I will smile every time I look at my tea pot now……which is every day. 🙂 Thank you, Kate.
Pleasure, Andra. I’m shamelessly stealing from Chinese folklore. I should really back off and usher China centre stage. Or possibly the racoon-dog.
I love these legends, Kate. There’s always a dense dark forest in them… and the characters themselves do, well, things you’d never think of!
They do! I never saw the teapot shapeshift coming, I’ll tell you, Tom. Those Chinese really know how to tell a tale.
‘a shape-shifting teapot’ a kind of tempest in a teapot tale, Kate. Gotta love the magic in this. Well at least I think this is magical.
I think so too, Hudson. Just the right combination of the personal and the magical 🙂
A charming story. I’m glad it had a happy ending, for the peasant and the teapot-dog. Not so much for the monk. That will teach him to polish things roughly.
Quite. Gentle polishing is one of the central tenets of the monks life, I believe, Gale.
Now I kind of wish one of my teapots would shapeshift into a dog. But I don’t think that’s going to happen. I’m surprised that the earliest extant teapot is only from the 16th century, though. I would have expected there to be many earlier examples floating around Asia.
There are plenty of earlier chinese pots, Weebles, but this is the earliest one with an English connection. Should have made that clear.
No: I think shapeshifting teapots are rather too mythical for my liking…
What a delightful tale . . . I’d toss a penny in the pot to see a tightroping teapot. 😀
So would I! (As long as they allowed cameras)
Loved, loved the story. And the visual of the man and teapot, deep in conversation, the beginning of a great friendship.
It’s a great story, Banno, and ancient, too. Any shapeshifting stories in your neck of the woods?
Lovely story Kate. Only you can dug out the history of teapot and that too with such interesting spin 🙂
Thanks, Jas: it is always a treat to discover stories like this one. I don’t know much Chinese folk lore: I think I may investigate more now!
A shapeshifter who “can only do teapots”–delightful image. I can’t stop smiling. Your story puts me in a happy mood, for which all around me will be grateful.
I am very pleased to hear it, Kathy 🙂 The story made me grin when I first read it…
Such a unique story! I haven’t yet taken the time to ponder what the many implications of such a story might be, but I’ll certainly be thinking about it. I know how silly this sounds, but I’ll say it anyway. I kept picturing Mrs. Potts and Chip from Disney’s version of Beauty and the Beast. So I have a number of swirling impressions and images to sort through, but I think there is probably quite a message embedded in this tale. I really loved this, Kate.
So pleased, Debra: I feel sure stories like this are made to be spread around and shared, so that their layers can wear away as our age increases and wisdom grow.
We once had a Scottish Fold cat that looked like a raccoon and we named him “Tanooki” (bad translation from a video game). What a great story.
The wry, half-shifted Tanuki makes me smile.